


Baby It's Cold Outside

by bluehat



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bullying, F/M, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, gross lack of hockey knowledge, i'm sorry i hurt bitty
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-15
Updated: 2017-08-09
Packaged: 2018-10-19 01:03:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10628928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluehat/pseuds/bluehat
Summary: Eric Bittle is secretly living in the cold storage room of a Massachusetts ice rink after being kicked out by his parents. After a while the hockey team that plays there begins to notice the boy that always hangs around the rink, and things go from there.





	1. Day One

Eric Bittle didn’t quite know what he was doing when he stood outside the ice rink at midnight. on a Sunday (or Monday, now, he supposed) in November. He’d never been here before—only knew it was an ice rink, in fact, because the sign said so. He remembered his ice skating lessons with Katya, back before the move, before—

He cut off his own thoughts before they could go anywhere too painful. 

Logically, he knew quite how this had happened. For some reason, he’d decided he should tell Mama and Coach about himself, assuming that they would love him no matter what. That’s what parents are supposed to do, he thought angrily to himself. But no, just after graduating high school he has found himself without money for a college education or even a place to stay, and he has no one to blame but himself.

Unwillingly, he thought about the night he had left. Coach had thrown things, Eric’s trophies flying across the room as Mama cried and screamed at him and then cried again. He’d done what every website said to do—tried to drop the topic to gauge their reactions before he told them. There wasn’t a twitch of an eye when he told them about Kelly from middle school who'd married her best friend Miranda. But apparently things were very different when it was their son.

After a week of hitchhiking and just plain old regular hiking, Eric had found himself in Massachusetts, his only request to get as far away from Georgia as he could manage on two hundred dollars and with only a change of spare clothes and his phone in his backpack. They’d given him only five minutes to pack before threatening to literally throw him from the door of his own home, and he hadn’t even remembered his charger. He’d kept his phone going as long as he could, but those times were over now, and there was barely twenty dollars left of his money.

He’d asked a nice girl at the local gas station where he could find a place to shower, and she’d directed him to the local rink, but it was a fair distance and he’d been walking for hours. He was exhausted and freezing, and of course it was closed. What kind of sensible place would still be open at midnight? He’d known for an hour that it was probably going to be shuttered when he arrived, but he hoped against logic that for some reason he’d be able to come in and get warm.

Eric tiredly wandered around back, looking for anywhere to hunker down for the night. The temperatures seemed to be dropping by the second, and he was wearing clothes suitable for a cold night in Georgia—a sweatshirt and jeans—but this wasn’t quite going to cut it for a Massachusetts winter. He rubbed his hands together, hoping it was just his imagination that they were tinged blue. 

As he poked around back, he heard a banging noise and found a miracle. The icy wind seemed to have blown the back door open, and he immediately rushed in. Even with the door open the presence of walls dulled the cold instantly. He shut the door behind him and suddenly everything was very dark. After a moment of letting his eyes adjust, he noticed hockey equipment piled around him, the skates reminding him of his figure skating days. He had thought about playing hockey in high school, but at that point everything had gotten so bad that he’d decided against spending any more time at the school building than was absolutely necessary.

He examined the room he was in more closely. It was extremely small and cramped, with the equipment stuffed into every corner. The skates were rusted and some of them were broken, and the helmets had cracks. When he reached out his hand to touch one, his hand came away coated in dust. He took a glance at the door presumably leading into the rest of the ice rink and tried it. Locked. 

Eric gave a relieved smile. Perhaps fate was finally smiling on him. From what he could tell, this seemed to be an old storage closet, where people would throw broken equipment every once in a blue moon. His rink used to have closets like this. Katya had even lost the keys to some of them. If his luck held, he could stay here for a while. There wasn’t heat, but there was shelter from the wind and the worst of the cold. He set down his backpack and an old tarp he found in the corner, and curled up for a restless sleep.

In the morning Eric was awoken by a shrill whistle from the rink. He sat bolt upright, but there was no one in the closet. From the light shining under the two doors, he could tell it was morning, and from the whistle it was probably eight or later, with a practice seemingly happening, probably for a hockey team. He grabbed his backpack and wedged a small piece of wood into the outside door to ensure it wouldn’t lock on him accidentally—although the frame looked broken, so he was pretty sure locking was no longer an option. They’d probably fix the door if anyone ever came back here, which was further evidence to his hope that it was abandoned. 

He snuck around to the front of the rink, not wanting any employee to think he was skulking around. With a start, he caught a glance of himself in the glossy front doors of the rink. He looked like he hadn’t slept in a week, his hair was a mess, and his once-nice blue button-down was covered in dirt and dust. He looked…homeless. He tried not to think about how it was true.

He sighed and hoped the rink didn’t cost too much to use, desperately wanting a shower more than anything. When he walked in he glanced around nervously, not wanting negative reactions to his appearance. The ticket counter was manned by a very short girl, even shorter than him, with a dark pixie cut and a slightly annoyed expression. She was stacking skates in the back of the booth. Hoping she wouldn’t give him any strange looks, he quietly approached the desk and, when she didn’t appear to notice him he spoke.

“Hello?”

She turned and spotted him, and her face reacted unconsciously to his appearance. She covered it up quickly and walked to the front.

“Hi, I’m Larissa. How can I help you?” she responded with a somewhat forced smile.

“Hi… I know this is a bit strange, but I was wondering how much it costs to use the facilities here? I don’t need to rent skates, I was just wondering about like, the showers, lord knows I could use a shower, as you can probably tell, and I’m talking too much so I’ll just keep my mouth shut now.” He chuckled awkwardly.

She smiled slightly more sincerely. “It’s not a weird question, we get lots of people in here to use the showers and such. It’s two dollars—I wish it were free, but I guess water bills come to something.”

He shakily held out a crumpled twenty, and she handed him back his change swiftly. 

Eighteen dollars left in the whole world for me, he thought quietly to himself.

“Go right ahead, they’re on your right!” She dispatched him cheerfully.

Eric followed her directions to a set of communal showers. After shedding his dirty clothes he brought them into the shower with him, hoping to clean off some of the grime. When the hot water hit his head he actually sighed in relief, feeling some of the horror of the past week fade away as dirt was swallowed by the drain.

He ran his clothes through the water and rid them of some of the muck he’d had to sleep in, and then dried them slowly in the hand dryers in the bathroom, wrapping one of the available towels around his waist. After he’d dried his underwear, pants, and socks and put them back on, a few hockey players entered the bathroom sweating, presumably on break. He continued drying his shirt, eyeing them nervously. He had never had great experiences with jocks, these past few years especially. The last thing he needed right now was to get beaten up in a hockey rink bathroom. However, they mostly ignored him, so he quietly got a better look.

There were three players who had entered the bathroom, all wearing the same red and white jerseys. They all looked a little older than Eric, but only by a few years at most. One of them had a rather magnificent mane of hair and a thick mustache, while the other two had shorter hair. The remaining two were similar in build, but otherwise different in appearance. One had dark skin with a haircut with shaved sides, while the other was pale with short but shaggy blond hair. The three kept a quiet conversation going as they splashed water in their faces.

The mustache one spoke first. “God dammit, you know I love the guy, but Jack fucking Zimmermann runs the hardest goddamn practices I have ever seen.”

The other two laughed. “Shitty, you know we love you, but you are way out of shape after last season. Jack has to whip all of our asses back into shape,” said the blond one. Eric confusedly noticed he said “shitty” like it was a name.

“My ass does not need whipping into shape. My ass is a beautiful specimen and you will take that comment back right now!” the mustache boy said, prostrating himself across the sink counter. The other two nodded thoughtfully.

A fourth boy in a jersey, this one very excitable, popped his head into the locker room. “Shitty! Ransom! Holster! Jack says to get back in here, and he says to say practice isn’t over yet. Sorry!”

“Shitty” grinned. “Got it, Chowder. Be right there.” All of them sauntered out, leaving Eric slightly bemused. 

Jocks, he thought quietly to himself. Always a mystery.

Eric finished drying his shirt and pulled it back on. He headed out into the rink, noticing a balcony lounging area over the ice rink with a few uncomfortable chairs and magazines, probably for tired parents waiting to pick up their kids from little league hockey or something, if that was even a thing. He saw Beyoncé smiling up at him from the cover of a beauty magazine and sat down next to the pile, glad to have something to do for the remainder of the day.

For a while he watched the hockey team practice, seeing even from a distance the mustachioed man from earlier. The practice was run by a boy he could tell had dark hair when he took off his helmet, but Eric was too far away to see much else. After a few hours, it was over, and they vacated the rink. 

The mustache boy—he thought he’d heard them call him Shitty, but as time had gone by he became convinced he’d misheard—and the dark haired captain, however, unexpectedly headed up the stairs towards Eric’s spot, perhaps wanting to get some snacks from the overpriced snack bar which Eric had already decided he couldn’t afford. True to his guess, the mustache boy picked up some curly fries and they waited by the counter, talking in voices too low for Eric to hear. As he looked over the top of his magazine, Eric took a closer look at the captain, who he realized was of course heartbreakingly gorgeous. His eyes were a beautiful blue and his chin looked chiseled out of marble. And whatever he’d heard once about hockey butts was certainly not wrong… The boy glanced over at him and Eric hastily dived behind the magazine again. 

A few moments later, they were joined by Larissa from the ticket booth. “Heeeey, Lardo,” he heard the mustache boy exclaim as he slung his arm around her. Larissa, or, “Lardo” grinned and the three headed out. Eric became invested again in his magazine and so missed the look the beautiful blue-eyed boy shot quickly at him as they left.

After most of the day had ticked quietly by from the giant clock on the wall, it hit nine thirty at night. Eric had read all of the magazines at least twice by now, but it wasn’t like he had anything better to do. He was starving, but was trying to distract himself from his hunger before he figured out a way to eat. He’d kept himself going on gas station food for a week, but the station was so far away and the food at the rink was so pricy. If he wanted to keep coming in here, he would have to conserve his money and hope to spot some quarters pretty soon.

A boy with red hair and freckles he hadn’t spotted before popped upstairs. His nametag read “William.”

“Hey, man, sorry but we’re closing. You, uh, have to leave…” he muttered awkwardly, probably not used to weirdos hanging around after hours in an ice skating rink, Eric thought to himself.

Eric looked up and smiled his old smile a little. “Oh, my goodness! I didn’t realize the time. I’ll be out of your hair in just a moment.” He gathered up his backpack and quickly rushed downstairs. When he stepped outside it was even colder than the previous night, and he coughed a little. Glancing back inside he saw no one watching him, the redhead grabbing a broom to sweep up the front after locking the front door. Eric quickly walked around to the back of the building.

He breathed a sigh of relief to see that the door was still openable and popped inside. The broken door still wasn’t doing much to keep out the cold, so he piled a couple of extra hockey jerseys on top of himself as he laid down. Soon, however, he realized he wasn’t going to get much sleep with so much hunger. The last thing he’d eaten was a granola bar the previous night when he’d come to the rink. 

Suddenly, his hungry nose sniffed a tiny smell coming from outside. After listening for a moment to ensure that no one was there, he poked his head outside and saw the trash bag waiting out back for the garbage truck. His heart sank. Had he really sunk this low? Another whiff of whatever was in the garbage convinced him that yes, in fact, he had. Making sure that William hadn’t stuck around, he took a minute and then rushed over. He carefully opened it so that he could tie it shut again after, not wanting to inconvenience anyone—or give himself away. He saw a carton of fries and some corn dogs, which weren’t really touching anything gross. He grabbed them, tied the bag shut again, and retreated to the storage room, where he ate ravenously.

After eating, Eric leaned back against the wall. A sickened feeling crashed over him. He had just eaten out of the trash. For some reason, more than anything else, this made him realize more than anything else that he was homeless. He had nowhere to go and no one to call. If they found him, he’d be sent to a shelter or something, and he was eighteen so no one had to take care of him. He didn’t want to go to one of those places—the one they’d had near his home in Madison had always been dirty and the people looked so sad. He didn’t want to live like that—if he had to be completely on his own, he’d like to at least have his own say in where he was. He knew it was ridiculous, but he felt like he needed to control at least one thing in his new world.

Eric crawled into bed tiredly. He hadn’t done anything all day, but the lack of food and general discomfort of his life now had exhausted him. He just wanted to go home to Georgia, where it was warm and where he had a family that loved him. He wanted to go back in time and not tell them the truth, not trust them with it. He wanted to have his life back.

Eric shut his eyes and hoped for a better future than the one he could see for himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don’t actually know anything about the homeless shelters in Georgia. I think they’re probably very well kept and a valuable resource, but for the purposes of this story this is what Bitty thinks! Sorry.


	2. Day Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so so so much everyone who’s liked and commented on this! This is my first ever fanfic and I’m so happy you all seem to like it.

Eric once again woke the next morning to the sound of a whistle as sunlight streamed under the two doors to the closet, lighting up the dust particles that he had jostled slightly. He stretched, his muscles resisting slightly—stiff after two nights on a hard concrete floor. His stomach growled, and he sighed. He only had about nine more days left at the rink on the his money if he spent absolutely none on food, so his stomach was going to have to get used to being empty if he wanted to have somewhere to spend his time.

Surprisingly, although he knew it was just going to be another day of sitting around in uncomfortable chairs and reading the same magazines, he was kind of looking forward to going back into the rink. It was nice to have a plan for the day and to know where you were going to end up. Even though he knew his time there was rapidly ticking down, at least for a tiny space of time his days might have some rhyme and reason to them. 

Looking down at his backpack, he wondered if perhaps he could borrow a charger from someone at the rink—even though he had no one to call, having a phone again would be a step towards feeling a little more like a person. Besides, he couldn’t go too long without social media. It would feel even more humanizing to be able to use his phone again. Smiling softly, he made up his mind to make that his mission for the day: find a charger.

Eric got to his feet and grabbed his backpack, but then reconsidered. Would it make him look even more homeless to bring it with him? He was relatively clean now, enough that he would probably avoid the showers today—he didn’t want to seem suspicious to them. Besides, his change of clothes was still pretty clean. Suddenly, he rolled his eyes at himself. No one at the rink was going to care how he looked. Other people always look at us far less than we think they do, he thought to himself. Unless I turn up screaming in the middle of the rink, no one’s going to think anything of me, and even if they do, all I seem is a little odd.

Having made up his mind, he slung his backpack over his shoulder. If for some reason he was unable to return to the small storage closet, he didn’t want to lose what few possessions he had left. A skate caught the sun, and his eye, as he turned to leave. The thought crossed his mind that maybe there were some that weren’t too horribly broken to skate on, and he could be out on the ice again. Resolving to look into that later, he cautiously exited into the chilly morning. As usual, there was no one back there.

Quickly, Eric sped around to the front of the building to avoid the gaze of any passerby. The only other people around were a mom and her two kids, who were being suitably distracting, and she didn’t seem to see him at all. He pushed open the glass doors and found the same girl as the day before manning the counter. He smiled at her as he approached, and she smiled back, more widely than the previous day, seeming to recognize him at least a little. He somehow found himself wishing that he could make her a pie, but banished the thought before he missed his kitchen too much.

“What can I do for you?” she asked.

“Um, I just need entrance to the rink, please, no skates,” he answered.

“Two dollars.”

He handed it over, ignoring the twinge at seeing his money gone once again. It was worth it just to have a place to go. Maybe some time in the future he could just stay in the closet and not go into the rink, but today he needed to go in, to be around people.

“Alright, here you go. Have a nice time!” She waved him in.

Eric headed into the rink and headed upstairs to his balcony perch. He claimed the same seat by the edge of the lounge, almost hanging over the side of the rink with the best view. He leaned over to look down and saw the same color jerseys as yesterday, red and white. Well, more of a maroon-crimson than red, but red and white was simpler to say.

He listened to the swish of the skates and thought back to his last practice with Katya. He had just pulled off the loop he’d been trying for a few weeks, and showed it off to her with a flourish. She clapped, a rare thing for her, and it made him glow with pride. It made him so happy he almost forgot that he was moving and that it was going to be too inconvenient for him to skate with her anymore—for him to figure skate at all. 

He didn’t want to inconvenience his family, and besides, Coach might be a little happier if he found a different hobby. It had always seemed to make his father vaguely uncomfortable to watch his son figure skate. He knew his father would tolerate it because it made him happy, but he didn’t want to have to be tolerated. He was miserable to be leaving it behind, but he was willing to try to find something both he and Coach could enjoy together.

The practice ended far too quickly, and Katya pulled him into a tight, brief hug before he left. “Keep skating,” she commanded. “It is good for you.”

“Thank you, for… for everything,” he said softly, trying to keep from crying. He didn’t know what he could find that could replace figure skating for him. He didn’t want to leave the ice behind.

“Dicky! We have to go, honey!” his mother called from near the door. He waved Katya goodbye and rushed over to her. As they left, his mother put her hand on his back, seeming to sense his distress.

“I know it’s hard to leave skating, honey, but we’ll find something new for you to do. Besides, this’ll leave more time for you to help in the kitchen. Not that I ever have to force you into the kitchen, unlike your father.” She poked him slightly in the side, and he giggled slightly.

“Your father and I are really proud of how well you’re taking this move, sweetie. We know it’s hard, but we’re here for you every step of the way.”

This was the last straw. He burst into tears and hugged her right outside their car in the parking lot. “I know, Mama. I love you.”

A group of voices moving closer snapped Eric out of his reverie, back into the present moment. He blinked, not crying but saddened by his thoughts. He sighed and looked back over to the rink, but he saw that only a few red-and-white players were still on the ice. Seemingly it was break time for the team. The possibly-named-Shitty boy was picking up some more curly fries from the snack stand. Eric’s stomach growled once more, and he grimaced. Although he didn’t seem to have heard, the boy turned towards Eric, noticing him for the first time.

“Hey, you were here yesterday! What are you doing in the rink, man? It’s kinda boring here if you’re not skating, don’t you think?” Eric was slightly taken aback by his carefree attitude. 

“I don’t know, it’s all right I think,” he said hesitantly. “As good a place to spend afternoons as any.”

The boy slumped into the chair next to him. With one rapid movement, he stuck out his hand. “Shitty Knight.”

Eric looked bemusedly at him before realizing that was probably the boy’s name. Not one to let hospitality escape him, he shook the boy’s hand. “Eric Bittle.”

The boy frowned at him for a moment. “Eric Bittle? That won’t do. How about… Bitter… Bits… Bitty? I like that. You’re pretty tiny too, so it works! Bitty it is.” He smiled widely, seeming to have decided something that was quite beyond Eric. He frowned slightly, not loving the comment about his size. However, he was suddenly struck with inspiration. The boy—Shitty—seemed friendly enough, so he might as well ask him. 

“Do you by any chance have a charger I could borrow for my phone?” he asked, taking it out to show him. “I left mine at home and it’s totally dead. I’ll give it back, I don’t think I’m going anywhere for the rest of the afternoon.”

Shitty took a glance at the phone and then nodded, shooting him a quick grin. “Sure, man. It’s not worth much so I don’t know why you’d steal it anyway. I wasn’t kidding though, this is kinda a weird place to hang out—not much going on.” He shook his head as though unable to fathom why Eric would possibly want to spend any more time in the building than he had to.

Eric shrugged, unable to come up with a reason himself. He took the charger Shitty offered him and plugged it in to the wall, the battery beginning to recharge on his phone.

While he still had the nerve, Eric had to ask. “Shitty? That’s your… name?”

Shitty laughed. “Nah, man, just my hockey nickname. My actual name is B—” Before he could finish, a whistle from the rink cut him off. The gorgeous dark-haired boy from the evening before was standing in the center of the rink, looking vaguely angry, but he had the day before too so Eric wondered if that was just what he always looked like. Shitty laughed a little, but then jumped to his feet. 

“Gotta head back to practice, Bitty. Jack won’t like it if I skip out on him, that’s for sure. See you around!” He jogged downstairs, leaving half of his curly fries behind. Eric called out to him. “Wait, you left—” and Shitty turned around. “Oh, just take ‘em, I’m not gonna get a chance to eat the rest. See ya!” He left as quickly as he had arrived.

Eric stared at the fries for a moment before quickly shoving them into his mouth, not bothering particularly with table manners as there was no one else around. He wondered if Shitty had really not wanted the fries, or if he actually had heard Eric’s stomach growling. Either way, he seemed like a pretty nice guy, even for a sports person. 

At his new school in Madison, after he’d left Katya’s rink, Eric had thought about getting into sports. After dropping by at the end of one practice and leaving it covered in bruises and needing to buy a new shirt after they’d covered it in garbage, he had decided against the sports thing. He had, of course, stopped by the football practice by accident instead of the co-ed ice hockey team. After that, the team wouldn’t leave him alone. They acted like it was a big joke and always said he was trying to spy on them, but the jokes weren’t funny to him when the hits started.

He knew he was small and he liked to bake and figure skate. Hell, even if he hadn’t been gay they would have made his life miserable just for those things. He gritted his teeth and thanked the lord again that high school was over. Of course, no matter how bad things had gotten during high school, he’d always been able to go home and have Mama coo over his bruises and have Coach look seriously at him over the dinner table. Coach never asked, and Eric now realized perhaps it was because he never wanted to know the answer. 

And then one day Eric just had to go and volunteer it on his own. He should have gone off somewhere, made his own life, and then told them. Or maybe never told them, and married some girl or never married anyone at all. At least then he would have still had parents. He wouldn’t have been completely alone.

He watched the hockey team finish up their practice, spotting Shitty even from afar by his glorious mane. Once, Shitty had even looked up and waved to Eric watching, and Eric had smiled a little and waved back. Small as it was, the gesture warmed his heart a little. The team soon packed up their stuff and headed out. Eric expected Shitty to come back up and collect his charger, but instead the boy headed out to the desk, seemingly haven forgotten about it. Eric jumped to his feet and grabbed it, jogging down the stairs. He started at a quick speed, but when he exerted himself his head hurt a little, so he slowed down. Maybe it’s the lack of food, you idiot, he thought to himself.

When he reached the front area, he saw Shitty about to leave with Larissa and the captain. He spoke quietly, but then louder when they didn’t hear him. “Shitty… Shitty!”

Shitty turned around and saw Eric holding his charger. “Oh, thanks Bitty! I almost forgot it.”

Larissa and the other boy stared at him. Eric smiled a little, uncomfortable, and muttered “He lent it to me, thanks Shitty, that was nice of you. See y’all around.”

Shitty didn’t seem ready to let him leave yet. “Oh, Bitty, meet the gang! This is Lardo,” he gestured to the girl, “and this is Jack. He doesn’t get a cool nickname because he’s lame.”

Eric smiled at them. “Hi, I’m Eric Bittle.” This was waved off by Shitty. “No he’s not, he’s Bitty. It’s much cooler, isn’t it?” He nudged Lardo for a response. She pushed him away, and laughed a little. “Ignore him, Eric, he’s a moron. See you tomorrow.” The three turned to leave, but Eric found himself caught in Jack’s lingering gaze for a moment.

“Nice meeting you, Bittle.”

He turned and left with the other two, all three piling into a beat-up car and pulling away. Eric wondered slightly at Larissa, or Lardo, leaving in the middle of the day when she worked at the rink, but he remembered her doing the same the previous day and figured she probably worked half days or something. It wasn’t really any of his business anyway.

Eric headed upstairs, thinking about the strange interaction. Shitty seemed to be treating him like a friend already, although they had barely met. And Jack… Eric couldn’t deny he was interested by the way the guy held himself. And his face certainly didn’t hurt matters.

Eric mentally scolded himself. Falling for a straight jock was certainly a one-way ticket to hell and he wasn’t quite ready for that at the moment. Larissa was probably Jack’s girlfriend anyway.

A few hours later, Eric saw William coming up the stairs and quickly vacated his seat, putting away the Beyoncé magazine he was reading for the tenth time already. “Have a good night,” he said, heading quickly out the door. “G’night,” grunted the redhead. Eric found his way back to the storage closet and laid down, pulling out his phone. He had left it alone at the rink, not wanting to waste any of its precious charge. Almost before he could help it, he called his home number. The phone rang and rang, and then went to voicemail. His mother’s voice.

“Hi, you’ve reached the Bittles. Please leave us a message and we’ll call y’all back as soon as we can! Have a lovely day.”

He shut off his phone. His parents had caller ID, so of course they didn’t pick up. They’d made it quite clear they never wanted to talk to him again.

He lay on his back on the hard ground, staring at the dark ceiling and waiting for the noise of William taking out the trash so he could get something to eat. As he closed his eyes and waited, the image of a dark-haired boy with very blue eyes swam before him, and he quietly sighed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not a whole ton happened this chapter, but I’m planning to slowly introduce Bitty to the Samwell crew and then let things go from there! ;)


	3. Interlude 1: Shitty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I thought I’d try a slightly different chapter, with an excerpt from the thoughts of another character. If you guys like it, I might do it for a few more people when they talk to Bitty, like Lardo, Ransom & Holster, Jack, etc. Thanks again for your incredible support!!
> 
> Also wanted to clarify, for the purposes of this universe the gang doesn’t all go to Samwell, or rather Samwell doesn’t exist in the same sense. The gang all have various jobs/go to local schools. If you have any questions, please ask! Thanks! <3 
> 
> P.S. There’s still a “Haus” but it’s more of a roommate situation, and the current population is Lardo, Shitty, Jack, Ransom, and Holster.
> 
> UPDATE: So sorry I haven't updated this in a while!! I will try to get to it ASAP my life is just really busy right now, thanks for sticking with me! :'(

Shitty Knight always felt like he spent a lot of time at the rink, but apparently his love for the ice was rivaled in the new blond kid that had been hanging around recently. When he thought about the kid occasionally, he couldn’t help but wonder what could compel someone who didn’t even seem to like to skate to hang around an ice skating rink? It wasn’t like the food was great or anything, and in the end there just wasn’t anything else to do at the rink but skate. But this kid just seemed to like sitting up on the usually empty balcony and reading magazines. 

The kid had pinged his radar on what he was pretty sure was the blond’s first day at the rink, when he had seen him in the bathroom. It wasn’t exactly unusual to see people drying clothes via hand dryer—accidents happen. Shitty usually introduced himself to anyone new at the rink, since it was fairly empty and he wanted business to be good. Friendly people bring back more customers, and more customers means that Lardo (and Dex, he supposes) get to keep their jobs. Not that he didn’t care about Dex, but man, between Dex, a newbie on the team, and Lardo, quite possibly the best person in the world? No contest. 

However, as soon as he, Rans and Holtzy had walked into the bathroom, goofing around a little on break, the new boy had stiffened and seemed almost to be afraid of the three of them. Shitty figured it was probably social anxiety or something of the like, and so wanted to give the kid a break by ignoring him. His theory that the blond was kind of antisocial seemed to be confirmed when all he did for the rest of the day was sit by himself and read. Didn’t even play on his phone, like any respectable millennial should, Shitty noted thoughtfully, stroking his mustache. 

When practice was over, he and Jack went to get Shitty’s daily helping of curly fries (or more than daily, but whatever Jack Zimmermann he eats what he wants to eat) he took another look at the guy. The boy was pretending to read his magazine, but Shitty could see that he was not-so-subtly checking out Jack. Not that he could blame the guy, Shitty knew Jack Zimmermann was pretty bammin-slammin-bootylicious, but it gave the mystery boy a little more personality. Then Lardo showed up and Shitty’s thoughts were suitably distracted from some random guy at the rink.

Jack, however, was not so occupied. While Lardo drove them back to the Haus in her beat-up car that she claimed had “artistic value” (Shitty claiming shotgun as per usual), Jack suddenly broke into Shitty’s discussion of the utility of the Bechdel test and said “Who was that guy at the rink?”

Shitty shrugged, a little amused by Jack’s interest. “I dunno, I almost talked to him in the bathroom but he just seemed to be doing his own thing. Did you give him a ticket, Lards?”

Lardo nodded. “Yeah, he looked like a bit of a wreck when he came in. Maybe a party-hard kinda guy? Didn’t seem much like it, though. He just wanted a shower, but a lot of people use the showers at the rink while something gets repaired at their houses or something. I heard there were some power outages downtown.”

Jack nodded thoughtfully, but Shitty wasn’t about to let him get away with it quite so easily. “Why do you ask, Jack? Got something on the brain?” He turned to the backseat and winked.

Jack stared him down. “No,” he said, utterly monotone.

Lardo punched Shitty in the arm. “Stop acting like Ransom and Holster. Jack’s allowed to be curious. I did think he seemed a little weird. Did he just read those like, five magazines the whole time we were there? They’re not even good. It’s stuff from like 2009.”

Shitty shrugged. “Maybe he just really enjoyed 2009. Good year. He’s probably just bored because his power’s out or something so he hit up the rink because it’s here. Probably’ll never see him again.” The conversation ended as quickly as it began, and Shitty resumed his previous discussion.

Before long, they pulled up at the dilapidated house that the five of them shared, Ransom and Holster probably out to get lunch like usual before coming home after practice. Shitty, Jack, and Lardo each had a room on the ground floor, while Ransom and Holster nabbed the one-room, but spacious, second floor. It wasn’t pretty, but there were basic utilities, including a vastly underutilized kitchen. 

Shitty had been very concerned they have a kitchen when they were house shopping, but now he wasn’t sure why as none of them really knew how to cook except for Jack, and he rarely did—and when he did make something, it was usually so protein-filled anyone except for him found it inedible. He had never felt more personally betrayed than the day he bit into a protein cookie Jack had made, thinking it was sugar. He was pretty sure Jack was capable of making better food, but, possibly as an elaborate prank (Shitty was waiting for the reveal on that one), he never did.

Shitty was enrolled in the local community college, having rejected his acceptances from several prestigious schools so he could live for a while on his own money and not his family’s. In two years, he would reapply and probably have to beg some money off of his dad, but at least he wasn’t there yet. The college he was currently attending wasn’t incredibly challenging, but there were dedicated teachers and some good resources. Film & Modern Feminist Culture, technically speaking, was the tits.

After whiling the rest of the day away with some Toni Morrison and some Super Smash Bros (Shitty liked to keep his interests open), he hit the sack to be ready for another early practice the next morning. Although this team wasn’t anything special, ever since Jack had joined they’d really upped their practice schedule, and with their first game coming soon every day was pretty much an ice day.

Jack was something that this tiny-league hockey team never really expected to receive. All the rest of the guys were pretty good, considering the team was close to not even being official, but Jack was something else. From the time he’d spent with the guy, Shitty knew Jack wanted to play professional hockey, and probably would someday, but he also knew that because of Jack’s past it was probably good for him to take a break and join a low-pressure team. 

He was pretty sure this team was an idea of Jack’s dad’s to get his son to love the game again, but also he didn’t think Jack knew how to play low-pressure hockey. However, so long as it didn’t cut into his class schedule, Shitty would show up to every practice Jack called. He liked the sport, and a part of him liked the competitiveness Jack brought to the table.

When the team arrived for practice the next morning, there was initially no sign of the blond boy, and Shitty didn’t even think about him. However, once again during break (when god damn you Jack Zimmermann he was going to get some fucking curly fries okay) he spotted the boy again. After grabbing his fries, he heard the boy’s stomach growl, and, with the vague purpose of offering some, he became determined to get his name—at least so he could stop referring to him as “that boy,” “kid,” or “blond” in his head.

After he was introduced, the timid manner of the boy gave Shitty an almost protective, maternal feeling—the kind of thing he could write a paper on. Suddenly, he found himself dubbing the boy a nickname, Bitty, to make things a little more comfortable. He was pleased with himself when this seemed to encourage Bitty to ask for a charger and about his name, feeling that he was acting a little more confident. 

He picked up on a Southern accent, which he wondered about slightly, but figured that might be rude to blatantly point out or something—was that rude? He’d ask Lardo later. She was his guide for how to not be terrible, basically. He wished he could talk to Bitty a little more, make him a little more at ease—especially if he was going to be around the rink more—but of course, Jack’s whistle cut him off. He smoothly left the rest of the fries for Bitty (nice one, he congratulated himself inside his head) and rejoined the grueling practice.

They worked pretty hard that morning, so Shitty had forgotten both Bitty and his charger by the time practice was over. He went to grab Lardo so that they could go home, but was surprised by Bitty running after them to give his charger back. He was touched that the Southern boy bothered to hurry after them to give it back instead of just handing it in at the desk or something, quietly resolving to get Lardo to pick up some newer magazines or something if Bitty was that obsessed. 

Shitty, never failing to be a courteous gentleman, introduced Lardo and Jack, noticing again that Bitty was much more focused on Jack than on either of the two of them. Jack also seemed to be paying attention to Bitty, and Shitty silently cheered at the hope that hockey robot could have more people in his life. Jack really needed some more people. 

On the ride home, perhaps afraid of chirping, Jack didn’t mention Bitty again, but Lardo did. 

“That boy, Eric, little surprised to see him again—guess you were wrong, Shits.”

Shitty raised his hands in mock surrender. “Never let it be said that I do not admit my mistakes. But god damn does he love those magazines. You should pick him up some new ones, to thank him for bringing me my charger back.”

Jack snorted. “Why should she do something to thank him for you?”

Shitty turned around fully in his seat to stare down Jack. “Because, unlike some people, Mr. Zimmermann, Lardo here is capable of being a good friend.”

“Buy him your own damn magazines,” Lardo responded. 

Shitty put his hand against his forehead like a fainting damsel. “You wound me, Lardo, you wound me deeply.”

After this, the conversation became too distracted to return to Bitty, and by the time they’d gotten to the Haus he was mostly gone from Shitty’s thoughts once again. 

As he fell asleep that night, though, Shitty kinda hoped Bitty would come by the rink again. They hadn’t talked much, but Shitty clicked with people fast or not at all, and he’d liked the guy. And, in the end, Jack seemed to like the guy, in his own weird way, and Shitty definitely wanted what was best for Jack.

Shitty didn’t know he closed his eyes at almost the same moment as Eric Bittle, in the back closet at the rink, both thinking about the same emotionally stunted Canadian hockey player, albeit not for the same reasons.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know absolutely nothing about hockey so I apologize for any inaccuracies!


	4. Days Three and Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I went so long without updating!! Next chapter should hopefully be up before long. This is the longest chapter yet!

When Eric woke up for the third day in a row in a hockey closet, he had to admit that he wasn’t feeling his best. Several nights of sleeping on a dusty concrete floor in the cold would do that to a person, he thought darkly. His head and chest ached and his stomach growled, and when he stood up, he felt faintly light-headed. He leaned against a broken net and sighed.

This was not a permanent solution. He knew he’d always had a problem in his life of being complacent when things were decent. Right now, he had a place to stay and food (albeit not huge amounts) and he was capable of living. But this was like winter break during high school—no matter how much his problems were not currently plaguing him, it didn’t mean that they had stopped existing. Instead of resting on this reprieve, he should be using all of his brainpower to figure out where to go when his money ran out, or when he inevitably got caught. 

Right on cue, he heard a thud against the locked rink door. There was a jangle of keys as he stood in petrified silence. He heard a sigh, and then a female voice that he was pretty sure he could identify as Lardo say “Dex, there’s no way you left your wallet in that storeroom. I don’t even know if the manager has the key to this one. It’s been closed for so long that the boys make up legends about what’s behind this ancient door.” She sounded some distance away.

Eric jumped again as a voice said, right next to the door, “Oh… yeah, I don’t have the key either. Whatever, maybe I left it in the bathroom?” Now that he was listening more closely, Eric could hear presumably “Dex”—which seemed to be Lardo’s nickname for William—walking away. He breathed a sigh of relief. Well, at least this interaction seemed to have confirmed his suspicion that it was very unlikely anyone would find him out through opening the storeroom. 

He stared at his remaining sixteen dollars. Eight more trips to the rink, if he went until the money ran out. But he knew, logically, that that would be a bad idea. It would be idiotic to use all of his remaining money here. He should go… maybe a few more times. But once he was down to ten dollars, he had to use his good sense and leave. There had to be something he wasn’t thinking of.

Should he go today?

He definitely wanted to. It would be nice to be in a slightly warmer environment, with some friendly people. But on the same note, there were clearly people who were beginning to notice him, and he didn’t want someone to call the authorities out of worry for a homeless-seeming boy who kept showing up in the same clothes. Maybe he should give it a day. And maybe he should try to go back to sleep. 

In the warmth of day, it was slightly less cold, but he was still shivering uncontrollably. His head pounded. I’m probably getting sick, he thought to himself bitterly. I wonder why?

He grabbed a secondary, equally dusty tarp from behind the skates and curled up with his head on his backpack. He was worried the cold and discomfort would keep sleep from him, but in almost no time he slipped into dreamland. 

Eric woke with a start presumably a few hours later. He checked the time on his phone and saw that it was about two o’clock in the afternoon. His thoughts still felt fuzzy and his head was painful, but he did feel a little better than when he had initially woken up. The sun glinted off the same skate it had the previous day and Eric pulled a few skates off of the rack to examine them. They were mostly children’s sizes, but he had small feet and could probably pull off some larger children’s skates. 

He first checked the sizes, tossing away the ones that obviously were meant for toddlers. Before long, he had assembled a group of large children and small adult sized skates. He quickly eliminated any missing their skates or obviously damaged in a way that would make them unusable. In the end, after a few hours of rustling and organizing, he was able to salvage a single pair of slightly-too-small skates that only had a bit of rust on them. 

They were an innocuous black color, so it was unlikely that anyone would recognize them as rink-rental skates. As Eric held them, he felt tears spring to his eyes. He chuckled slightly, amused that something so small could move him after the time he’d had recently. But these skates… they were freedom, in a way. An access point to his old life. Not even the one from a few weeks ago, but the one from when he was actually happy. 

As Eric slumped against the wall, clutching the skates, he felt tired once again, both physically and mentally. I’ll skate tomorrow, he thought to himself, grinning softly. He barely had to pull the tarps over himself and he slipped off to sleep once more.

Eric woke only once during the night, when his hunger pangs became too much. Everything was dark, so he felt relatively safe poking his head out into the chilled night air. The trash was sitting there, and it felt cold to the touch as well, so Eric wasn’t particularly surprised when his phone revealed it to be almost one o’clock in the morning. I must be sick, he thought, to sleep this much. Or maybe my body’s just not running on enough energy to stay awake. 

He ate as much as he could salvage from the trash bag, which unfortunately wasn’t much, even with lowered standards. Must have been a busy day for the food stand. 

The whistle woke him once again. He checked his phone, and although he scolded himself for looking at it as much as he had, wasting battery power, it made him feel a little more grounded. Thursday. Eight o’clock in the morning. He gathered himself together, dusted himself off, grabbed his “new” skates, and listened to the door for a moment. He heard nothing on the other side, so came out and headed off to the front. There was no one around, and so he entered, seeing Lardo again at the front desk.

“Heyyy, Bitty boy! Back again?” she asked in a friendly tone.

“You know it,” he said. “Um, if I have my own skates, do I need to pay more than two dollars to go to the rink?” He crossed his fingers behind his back, as he couldn’t defend spending any more money on such a silly desire.

“Nah, two bucks.”

He smiled widely, an echo of his old joyful face, and handed over the money. Fourteen dollars left now.

As he strapped on his skates, he didn’t see any sign of the hockey team. Maybe they were having a late practice? Or they didn’t practice today? He was a little disappointed not to see them. Even though he didn’t know them at all, it felt nice to have some consistent friendly strangers in his life.

After a few wobbly steps onto the rink, he quickly fell into his old routine. The ice sped under his feet, and for the first time since he had left home that night, Eric felt like himself again. This was why life was worth living. The wonderful rush. The last few weeks had been disastrous at best, but on the ice, Eric remembered that in the end, he was going to make sure everything worked out somehow. 

He did some spins, making sure to keep his skating low difficulty as although it felt like yesterday, it had been quite a while since he’d been in a rink. These skates were also quite different than his figure skating ones, so it was a little bit of a learning curve. After about a half an hour, he did one of his more complex jumps and pulled it off perfectly with a jolt of exhilaration. To his surprise, he heard whooping coming from the side of the rink. 

When he looked up, he saw Shitty, wearing for the first time non-uniform clothing. When Shitty saw him looking, he waved Eric over. Eric skated over quickly, feeling slightly embarrassed that he’d apparently been showing off.

“Woah, dude! That was amazing. I can’t believe there’s been a pro figure skater under my nose all this time!” Shitty gushed, exaggerating slightly but clearly in good fun.

Eric blushed slightly, feeling a mix of pleased and embarrassed. “Oh, it’s nothing really, I used to take lessons back in Georgia.”

Shitty clapped his hands together. “Georgia! That’s where you’re from? I knew I heard an accent! I was maybe gonna ask you about it, but like, is that rude?”

Eric almost started to answer, no, he didn’t really think it was rude, but Shitty cut him off before he had a chance to speak.

“Nevermind, nevermind! Listen, Captain Hardass decided to give us all the day off because he’s got some college test or some shit so Lardo’s taking a half day and me and Rans and Holtzy and her are gonna go, I don’t know, get some food or something? You wanna come? I gotta tell them about your secret skills!”

Eric once again opened his mouth, this time to decline—where was he going to get money for food? And what if they asked questions he couldn’t answer?—but Shitty cut him off a second time.

“C’mon, let me take you out to a free lunch with the team—well, some of the team—and it’s free because I lost a bet and now I’m paying for everyone, actually—and like, don’t be shy! Because everyone would like to know a little more about our rink’s resident mysterious stranger.” Shitty winked. Bitty felt the corners of an exasperated smile begin to turn his mouth.

“Is that a yes?” Shitty asked eagerly.

“…Okay, sounds nice, if I’m not intruding…” said Eric doubtfully.

“Shh! Shh!” said Shitty in response, holding his finger up to Eric’s mouth over the rink partition. “Don’t say those words! Don’t even think those words! It is simply impossible, sir, to intrude when you have been forcibly invited along to an event. Lardo’s gonna drive us over there, and if you want we can give you a ride back to the rink when we’re done—clearly it’s your favorite hangout, and your car’s probably here…”

“Sounds good,” said Eric, feeling slightly guilty for not correcting Shitty, even though he wasn’t outright lying to him. 

“It is decided! C’mon, let’s go get Lardo and your shoes.”

Feeling like he’d just been swept up into a whirlwind, Eric quickly changed into his regular shoes. It seemed like fate was taking pity on him a little, giving him a free lunch. He was just extremely lucky to run into possibly the friendliest guy on the planet. He did feel a little nervous at the concept of spending an afternoon with some extreme-jock guys, but not particularly if Lardo and Shitty were the standard for the people he’d be meeting.

He was a little sad that the captain, Jack, apparently wouldn’t be there, but then again, Jack seemed kind of angry, so perhaps it was a relief.

Moments later, he found himself in the backseat of Lardo’s car (affectionately called a “piece of shit” by both her and Shitty) and he sat in awkward silence. Lardo glanced back at him in the rearview mirror as she drove.

“So, Bitty, Shitty roped you into his bad brunch plans?”

Bitty laughed nervously, not wanting to insult the person who’d offered to pay for his food. Lardo smirked slightly at his discomfort.

“Don’t worry, Shitty knows his plans always suck. He’s just doing this because for some reason, the idiot decided to bet against me in beer pong.” She smiled sharply. Shitty groaned.

“Ugh, Lardo, I was so drunk. So drunk. I didn’t understand what I was saying,” he moaned.

“A mistake best not made twice,” she warned him. “Or it won’t just be brunch that you’re paying for.” 

Shitty clutched his heart in mock fear. “Larissa Duan, was that a threat?”

She smirked again. “If it was a threat, you’d know.”

Bitty watched them in amusement, marveling at how they made him feel as if he was among friends although he’d barely known them for any time at all. Before long, they were pulling into a diner parking lot. A neon sign declared “Jerry’s” over a run-down but friendly-looking diner. 

“Have you ever had Jerry’s brunch before?” asked Shitty curiously.

“No, I’m… new in town,” said Bitty, slightly evasively. It was technically true, he thought to himself. 

“Well, you’re in for a treat. JBrizzle is a rite of passage for this town,” said Lardo in an extremely serious tone of voice.

“Are you… is this a joke?” he asked.

Shitty suddenly put both of his hands on Eric’s shoulders, stopping him before they entered the diner. “Bitty. Dude. We do not joke about JBrizzle.” 

The two of them pulled Eric in behind them, as he stared bewildered at the totally average-looking diner. Was there something he was completely missing?

Eric allowed himself to be tugged along to a table in the back, where the two boys from the bathroom on the first day sat. “This is Ransom,” said Shitty, gesturing to a dark-skinned boy wearing a nice jacket, “and this is Holster,” pointing to a blond wearing a hoodie. “They will prove to you that soulmates exist.”

“…Hi?” said Eric.

The two boys, as if on cue, performed a one-handed complex handshake without breaking eye contact with Eric and Shitty. After they were done, the one who had been introduced as Ransom assured him that in fact that was “just the level one version. We’ll show you the full one later, when we have more room, and more time… and what’s your name, by the way? And, uh, not to be rude, but who are you?”

Shitty gently shepherded Bitty into a seat. “This, my friends, is Bitty. And you guys probably have seen him at the rink? I brought him along because this morning, oh, this morning I did see the secret skills that this boy has contained within his seemingly small frame. I was merely coming in to look around as my good friend Larissa collected her, things, when lo I did see—”

“He’s good at figure skating,” Lardo broke in suddenly.

“Lardo! You stole my thunder!” whined Shitty.

Holster and Ransom looked very interested in this declaration. “Cool!” exclaimed Holster. “I’ve always thought figure skating was bitching, but, don’t really have the build for it, you feel me.”

Ransom was clearly thinking intently. “You should totally come by our practice and show us some crazy badass spins we can use in hockey.”

Eric laughed a little. “I don’t know if I know anything y’all could use, honestly. I used to take lessons a while ago back in Georgia, but I never went anywhere with it or anything like that.”

“You’re from Georgia? My cousin’s girlfriend is from Georgia!” exclaimed Holster, a bit more excitedly than the information necessarily required. 

“Yeah, it’s… it’s nice there,” said Eric, a little more softly than he meant to. Clearing his throat, he continued. “Definitely warmer than it is up here! I don’t know how you boys deal with this freezing weather.”

A waitress dropped by to check in on the table, and everyone ordered coffee, so Eric went along with it. He examined the menu, at a loss for what to order after so long without hot, freshly prepared food. Lardo noticed his confusion, perhaps attributing it to the vast selection. “The waffles here are out of this world, bro,” she murmured.

Ransom shook his head respectfully. “No, no, the pancakes are clearly the only correct choice. You see—” Shitty cut him off. “Now is not the time to rehash the great wafflecake debate of 2014. Why don’t you get the combo and get both? It’s worth it for a first-time JBrizzler.”

Holster gaped at him. “First time JBrizzler?! Now this I must see,” while Ransom muttered something about how it wasn’t particularly unusual.

Bitty ordered the combo and enjoyed an absolutely insanely delicious meal when it arrived. He didn’t know whether it was just a lack of good food, but this had to be one of the best meals he’d ever had, and he said as much to the table. They laughed good-naturedly. Bitty was surprised at how comfortable he felt around all of them. He’d never had great experiences with jocks before, but these were like a whole different breed.

After the food came the questions he’d been dreading. 

“So, Bitty, where do you live?” asked Holster as he ate his way through his second plate of pancakes.

“Um, sort of on the edge of town… not too far from the gas station near the rink,” he said, remembering some houses along there when he’d walked.

“Not the greatest neighborhood,” remarked Holster before Lardo swiftly punched him in the arm. 

“Dude, shut up,” she muttered. 

“Sorry,” he murmured sheepishly.

“No, it’s okay,” said Bitty. It was okay if they thought he was just from a bad neighborhood. That could explain a lot of his problems, actually. “Just a little tight on money at the moment, but I’m doing fine where I am.”

Ransom and Holster nodded sagely. “Yeah, rent isn’t cheap in this town,” they agreed. “The only way we were able to afford a house out of that area was with five of us sharing it.”

“Y’all all live together?” he asked.

Ransom nodded. “Yeah, we call it the ‘Haus.’ It’s a pretty beat-up building, but hey, Haus sweet Haus, right?”

“Does everyone go to the same college?”

Shitty responded this time. “Nah, I’m in community college so I can get away from my ‘rents for a little bit, Lardo’s in art school, and Rans and Holtzy are both in the school a little ways out of town. Jack goes to the same college as me. The four of us went to high school together and then we got a house after a while, and then Jack showed up and he turned the hockey team from like a get-together into an actual thing, and then he realized how cool we were and moved in.”

Eric blinked at the massive amount of information. Shitty grinned. “Do you go to school around here?”

Eric shook his head, wishing he was anywhere else so he wouldn’t have to keep telling these half-truths and thinking about all his painful memories. “No, I’m not in school right now. Just trying to figure stuff out at the moment.” He tried to keep his voice even, but he thought maybe Shitty could tell he’d touched a nerve. “Sorry, man, I know college isn’t for everyone, don’t worry about it.”

He didn’t want them to think he was some kind of layabout, hanging out at the rink all day and not even going to college, so he felt the irrational urge to defend himself. “No, I mean—I want to, it’s just—it’s not really in the cards right now.”

The table fell slightly silent, and Eric felt bad for making them uncomfortable. “I mean—I’m sure I’ll figure it out soon. It’s no big deal!”

Lardo grinned as a text pinged on her phone. “Jack’s done with his test, he’s gonna come meet up with us in a minute.”

Shitty put his head in his hands and sighed dramatically. “Lards, he’s gonna kick our asses for eating all of this when we have a game this weekend…”

Lardo put her hands up in a gesture of surrender. “Whose fault is that?”

“So, Jack’s your captain who I met the other day, right?” Eric asked Shitty, curious in spite of his best efforts.

Shitty’s eyes glinted with some kind of knowledge that Eric wasn’t privy to and he grinned. “Why do you ask? Thinking about him?” He waggled his eyebrows.

Lardo groaned. “Stop it, Shitty, leave the boy alone. We all know Jack’s hot, okay? No shame in noticing it.” Eric didn’t like the way she directed the last part to him, feeling his face go red.

Ransom and Holster nodded. “It is a well-known fact that hockey booty, is, scientifically, banging.”

“No—no, nothing like that,” Eric laughed in a slightly higher-pitched tone than usual. “Y’all just seem to talk about him a lot, so I wondered a little about him. That’s it.” He really didn’t need his life to get any worse than it already had. 

“Well, he’s our captain, yeah, and he’s a hockey robot, and he’s—”

“Right here.” Jack finished Shitty’s sentence. “And I’m not a hockey robot. Bittle, right?” He shook Eric’s hand oddly formally. 

“Yep, you got me,” Eric breathed. Jack’s eyes might possibly be even brighter up close. He drank the last dregs of his coffee to get out of the conversation for a moment.

“Bitty’s a figure skater!” Shitty exclaimed to Jack.

“Huh,” Jack responded eloquently. 

Ransom and Holster pulled Jack down next to them. “Jack, we gotta have him come by our next practice. He can show us those sweet sweet flips.”

Eric almost put his head in his hands. “No, really, I have no idea what you guys could…”

Jack thought for a moment, then looked directly at Eric, gaze hardening. “Do you think you could help us with some agility training? I’ve been looking for some new moves.”

“Um, sure,” Eric responded nervously, not wanting to say no when looking directly at Jack. “I could, try…”

“Good.” Jack answered, and then drained his cup of black coffee in only a few sips. “I just was able to stop in for a moment, but I’m meeting my parents in an hour, so I have to go. Thanks for the coffee, Shitty. See you tomorrow at practice, nine o’clock. You too, Bittle.” And then, no further goodbyes, he left.

Shitty threw up his hands. “There’s Jack for you. Not an extra word, that’s for sure. Boy could stand to stick around every once in a while.” Eric could hear a tone of affection in his voice in spite of his words.

“Well, he’s not the only one who needs to go, unfortunately,” said Lardo, checking her watch. “I gotta get back to the rink. Bitty, Shitty, you coming with?”

“Yes, please,” said Bitty, as Shitty belched and nodded. Lardo rolled her eyes. “At least one of you has manners.”

Shitty quickly took care of the bill and tip and the five of them left the diner, Ransom and Holster grabbing two bikes off of a bike rack. “See ya!” the two yelled as they quickly biked off down the highway. Lardo stared after them for a moment, shaking her head. “They should just buy a car already, jesus.”

Conversation was light on the way back to the rink, which Bitty was slightly grateful for. He always felt on the edge of giving too much away in his comfort with this new crowd. He wished what he had said to them was true. He wished he lived in this town. He wished his parents still loved him. Okay, time to steer his thoughts away from that direction, he thought to himself. 

As they entered the rink, Shitty tapped him on the shoulder and, grinning, produced a sheaf of magazines from behind his back. “For when you get bored of reading about the fashion trends of 2009, which I’m sure is never, but here’s some updates!” He then ran off to join Lardo at the desk as Eric headed towards the stairs. Eric paused, not wanting to leave without thanking Shitty for everything he’d done in the last few hours. He walked over to the desk.

“Shitty…thanks a lot. You and everyone else has been pretty awesome to me. I don’t really know anyone around here, so it means a lot…” He smiled softly.

Shitty shook his head. “’Swawesome.”

Eric looked at him, puzzled. Shitty continued. “Everyone in the gang around here says ‘swawesome. And you’re welcome, Bits.” He smiled so wide it looked like it might hurt. Lardo rolled her eyes. “You spoil him with your praise, Bitty.”

Still smiling, Bitty went upstairs to enjoy his new magazines. He knew he couldn’t stay here for very much longer, but he was going to be very sad when it came time for him to go to wherever else he could find to crash on so little money. Fourteen dollars left, whispered his brain. But when he thought about the brunch he had enjoyed with people who were starting to feel like friends, he felt a little less worried about his future for once.


	5. Day Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okay, usually chapters won’t be up so quickly in succession… but you guys are so lovely that I just can’t keep my hands off of this thing <3 <3 <3 
> 
> Thank you so much for all the comments, I’ll do my best to reply!! (At first I was kinda on the fence about replying to comments, because on other sites it’s not a great idea… but everyone here has just been so supportive and made me feel so good! Recently, I almost never feel happier than after I post a chapter. Everyone’s made it so rewarding!!!)

When Bitty awoke, his body ached as per usual, but everything seemed a little less severe. The good meal the previous day seemed to have improved his outlook and physical health at least to a noticeable point. Like his mama always said, nothing’s so wrong a good meal can’t fix it. Eric rolled his eyes at the irony of using that statement as comfort in his current situation. Too bad a blackberry muffin can’t make me a little less gay, Mama. 

He stretched as much as was possible in the cramped, dusty space, and checked his phone to ensure that he was not late for Jack’s practice. Nope, it was only seven thirty. Still had an hour and a half to kill before the team showed up. Eric spent this time organizing his few belongings, taking stock of what was left. If he stuck to his plan—and it would pain him to do so, but he knew, he had to know it would be so stupid not to—this would be his second-to-last day at the rink. Maybe figuring out exactly what resources he had at his disposal would help him figure out where to go next.

His backpack. His phone, on about a thirty percent charge now. He’d been using it sparingly, but apparently not sparingly enough. Maybe he could borrow Shitty’s charger again, but it would be a little weird to have “forgotten” his charger twice in a row. 

Not that weird, though, he supposed. His life was feeling so far from that of a normal teenager that he was having trouble figuring out what others would even think was weird. Oh well. He’d always been weird to those around him, so why stop now? It had brought him this far, after all. Not that that was necessarily a good thing. Whatever, he was overthinking it. Later today he could ask to borrow it again, if Shitty was around and had some free time.

His backpack, his phone, his makeshift skates, the clothes on his back and one set of spares—not even enough to really be considered a change, just a different shirt and pair of boxers—and some fashion magazines, courtesy of Shitty. Not for the first time, Eric wondered at exactly how easy it apparently was for life to take a turn straight to hell. Only a few weeks ago, he’d been looking forward to college. High school had sucked, but everyone said that. In college he’d meet liberal like-minded individuals, and his life would take a dramatic upturn. 

Yeah, that had worked out great. He was sitting with barely enough to fill one compartment of a ratty backpack in a cold, dark storeroom where he was illegally squatting with fourteen dollars to his name, and with the exception of one truly awesome brunch, he had spent the last four days eating out of a trash can for a whopping total of one meal per day. Life was really a wild ride.

But where to go from here? He had no one to turn to. Anyone he confided in would send him to the police—and maybe, he thought with some dawning horror, they would try to send him back to his parents in Georgia. No thanks, one evening of both of his parents having breakdowns and having heavy objects thrown in his general direction that ended in fairly threatening ultimatums to “get out and stay out, or else”—yeah, one evening of that was plenty for one lifetime. 

And if the police realized his parents wouldn’t take him back, where would he go from there? Was he still young enough to go into foster care? For what, a few months? And who could guarantee that where he would go would be better than where he had started. No, it seemed like staying on the run was his only option. 

As for turning to family, well, his parents were out for obvious reasons, but the rest of his relatives—he was sure his parents would have told them by now. Mama and Coach were both beloved by their families, and Eric had always been the cute baby of the family. He doubted that was still the case. And even if he wanted to show up and get thrown out by another member of his family, they were all still back in Georgia anyway.

Thinking of Georgia, he wrapped the tarp a little tighter around himself. Why did he have to go so far north in his desperate bid for freedom? Why couldn’t he have decided to hitch a ride out to California or something, jeez louise. It was too damn cold for sensible people in these parts. 

His thoughts returned with something of a panic to his main problem. When he ran out of money, and then where was he supposed to go? Some drug den, or somewhere even worse? 

He put his head in his hands. There was no way out. Maybe he just wasn’t smart enough to think of the solution, but he honestly didn’t even know if there was one. 

He checked his phone again. Eight fifteen. Deciding his moping had gone on long enough, he decided to head over to the practice and procrastinate on dealing with his problems until later. Maybe some good exercise would… grind his… thinking… gears. Or something.

Preoccupied by his troubled thoughts, Eric walked around to the front of the building without noticing much, and failed to see a red-haired boy’s curious look at him through a side window.

Eric traded his two dollars for a fourth entrance to the rink, resolving to do another embarrassing bathroom shower-and-clothes-washing trip after the practice. At least that could be a vaguely defensible use of his money. Being clean at least allowed him to feel like a human being still, even in his situation. 

As it was forty minutes before practice was due to start, no one much was around. Eric thought about making conversation with Lardo, but when he poked his head around the bend to the front desk, she was deep in a serious conversation with Dex, and he decided not to intervene. He figured he might as well get out on the ice before everyone else, laced up his skates and spun across the frozen court. He didn’t want to get too crazy, not with these skates and not without practice, but it was hard to resist with the bonus of not feeling as dead tired as he had the day before. 

He made himself take some laps to take a break in between his more rigorous jumps, and when he realized that practice would start in about fifteen minutes, he pulled over to the side to make himself stop, so he wouldn’t be tired and out of breath when they showed up. When he stopped skating, for a moment he felt intensely dizzy, but he shook his head to try and clear it and the feeling went away. Figuring it was probably a fluke, he looked up to see a razor-sharp gaze focused on him. 

Eric blushed slightly and looked down, feeling as uncomfortable as anyone under Jack’s almost-glare. When he looked up, he was surprised to see a faint—very faint, admittedly—half-smile on Jack’s lips. While it didn’t quite reach his eyes, it made him very slightly less intimidating. “Looks like you know your stuff, Bittle,” he said calmly. 

Eric cursed himself for paying no attention to the outside of the rink while he was skating, for this made the second time in two days that he had been caught unawares by an observer.

He smiled and laughed nervously. “Well, it’s no big thing really, I just—I just used to take some lessons, is all. I’m not terribly impressive, honestly.”

Jack’s smile had disappeared at some point, and the tall boy seemed to be examining him closely. “Take the compliment, Bittle.”

Jeez. He did not know how to read this guy. Eric felt his mouth starting to move without his permission. “Um—okay. Thanks, Mr.—uh… Jack. I was kinda going for a joke there where I called you by your last name, as like a nickname-type thing, but then I realized that I do not, in fact, know your last name, and I should probably have asked at some point, and now we’re to the point where it’s not funny at all and I should definitely have stopped talking several seconds ago, but it’s past that point of no return now and I—”

Jack’s half-smile was back, just a little. “It’s okay. And, uh, my last name is Zimmermann, if you want to know. But please just call me Jack.” He seemed a little flustered in some way that Eric couldn’t really understand—and he knew it wasn’t that he made Jack nervous. People like him did not make people like Jack apparently-last-named Zimmermann nervous.

Eric’s monologue petered out, while a high-pitched voice in the back of his brain continued to scream without needing to draw breath. This boy made him very nervous, that was for sure. But not necessarily in a bad way.

What Eric was beginning to recognize as Jack’s business face appeared. “We have a game on Sunday, so I don’t want to push too hard today. That’s why I thought it might be interesting to do some lighter training, but with a bit more focus on agility. I mean, a lot of hockey is about strength, like any sport, but I want this team to have a broader focus than that.”

Eric nodded, marveling at the most words he’d heard Jack speak yet. And of course it was about hockey. 

“So—what are some warmups you usually do for your figure skating?”

Eric started, realizing it was actually his turn to talk about the thing he was supposedly good at. Bumbling a bit at first, he tried to walk Jack through his typical training exercises—ones Katya had drilled into his brain. 

Jack nodded approvingly at several of the exercises, and once the rest of the team arrived and put on their uniforms (Shitty had run in wearing nothing but a pair of swim trunks—confusing for November in Massachusetts, but not, he supposed, entirely unexpected) they began to run through them. Every so often, Jack would look to Eric for guidance on whether or not they were performing the moves correctly, but mostly, Eric just sat back and watched the boys run through his training routines. 

He hadn’t given them anything too difficult, but it was a little amusing to see them run into the same struggles he had initially faced. And, of course, they were all wearing hockey skates, so he was sure that didn’t help matters.

After about an hour and a half, Jack called a short break. As the team skated to the side to grab drinks and snacks, Ransom and Holster skated up to Eric. 

“Bitty,” Ransom began seriously. “Shitty has been regaling us with tales of your figure skating prowess. And although I gotta admit this practice is at least kicking my ass in a different way than usual, my appetite for your sweet moves has not been sated! You gotta show off a little.”

Holster nodded vigorously. “You gotta inspire us with your flips and turns, my dude.”

Eric shook his head slightly. “This isn’t my practice, I don’t wanna intrude. And I’m out of practice anyway. And these are hockey skates, so it’s not easy for anyone, and—”

Ransom and Holster each put a hand on one of his shoulders. “Bro. You gotta.”

Eric sighed. “Okay, but only a little bit, all right? I don’t want to mess with Jack’s practice.”

Ransom waved his hands dismissively. “It’s break time, Bitty, and no force on earth can stop a man from doing what he wants during break time.”

Holster suddenly bellowed loudly “BITTY’S GONNA SHOW OFF HIS AWE-INSPIRING FIGURE SKATING SO COME LOOK!”

Eric turned bright red. “Okay, I don’t know how I feel about having an audience for this, y’all, I’m really not all that Shitty’s cracked me up to be—”

Shitty and Jack skated up. Shitty looked delighted. “Come on Bits, show off those secret pro skills a little.”

Eric looked at Jack, who looked faintly amused. “Well, it’s break time, so do what you guys want,” he said passively. 

After some repeated encouragement from these three jock boys who were also apparently his biggest cheerleaders (even though two of them had never even seen him skate, he thought to himself bemusedly) Eric took to the ice. He started off slow, twirling and sliding around gracefully, and then warmed up to some bigger jumps. 

His head was pounding with excitement as the team whooped and hollered in the background. All other noise seemed to fade out, just as it always had with Katya, as he attempted his most complex jump yet since being back on the ice. He skidded a little on the landing, but as his audience was not one of figure skaters, he figured they’d let it slide. His hunch was correct, if the noises of appreciation from his audience was anything to go by. 

Eric did another jump, then another, then another. And then his common sense kicked in and he figured he’d do one more lap and then call it quits before Jack kicked him out of the rink. As he skated around to meet the smiles of the hockey team, Eric found it a little difficult to make them out, suddenly. The dizziness from earlier was back, along with an intense ringing in his ears. He wobbled over to the side and tried to sit, but ended up collapsing into more of a heap.

“Bitty—Bitty!”

Eric’s vision was fading in and out as he sat on the ice, hunched over against the side of the wall.

“Chowder, someone, get him some water!”

“Bitty, are you okay? What’s the matter?”

“Do we need to call an ambulance or something?”

“Get Lardo! She’ll know what to do!”

“Oh my god, what happened?”

“Eric.”

The last voice, deep and serious, helped bring Eric out of his feverish state. As he sipped water that someone had shoved into his face, Jack’s face swam into view, followed by a worried Shitty, and next to him, Lardo looking at him with an expression of deep concentration.

“Eric, look at me. Do you need us to call a doctor?” Jack asked, voice soft but steady.

He blinked and the dizziness faded further. “No—no, I’m fine. Sorry. Just, um, over-exertion. It’s been a while, I guess.”

Ransom and Holster looked incredibly guilty. “We shouldn’t have pushed you to do it,” said Ransom, as Holster muttered “We’re so sorry.”

Eric attempted to laugh. “No, really, guys. It’s not your fault. I was showing off and I should know my limits better than that.”

Jack and Shitty waved the team out of the rink, and everyone except for the two and Lardo left Eric’s side.

Shitty glanced at Jack, whose stoic expression gave nothing away. Eric looked into Shitty’s face and saw extreme concern, that he felt the need to try to dissuade.

“Shitty, I’m fine. I just got a little dehydrated probably,” he said in a calm voice.

Lardo looked at him closely. “Bitty—Eric. Have you… have you been getting enough to eat?”

Shitty looked him up and down. “You’re mega-skinny, bro. And, no offense, but not in a supermodel way. Not that supermodels should have to be mega-skinny, but that’s the society we live in, and…” Shitty trailed off, seeming to decide that now was not the time. 

“And you’ve been wearing basically the same clothes since we met you,” said Lardo sharply.

Eric looked from Shitty to Lardo. “What are you guys saying?”

Shitty shrugged helplessly. “Look, I know you probably don’t like to talk about it, but with what you said about your neighborhood, and about college—if money’s really that tight around your house, or you don’t like being home—you don’t have to talk about it. But let us help you a little, okay?”

Eric looked at him confusedly, wondering if the lightheadedness wasn’t as gone as it seemed to be. “Why would you help me? You barely know me.”

Lardo cocked her head slightly to the side. “True. But hey, don’t gotta know you to like you.”

Eric could argue that in fact, you did have to know someone to like them, but—

“Come on, Bittle, let us buy you some curly fries,” said Jack, speaking for the first time in a few minutes.

Shitty gaped at him in mock surprise. “Curly fries?! Those don’t exactly follow your diet plan, Mr. Hockey-health-nut.” Lardo rolled her eyes, but didn’t say anything to prevent Shitty from bringing some humor back into the situation. 

Jack made a disgruntled expression. “He needs to eat more protein if he wants to stay on my team, but I’ll make an exception just this once.” 

Shitty and Jack helped Eric to his feet, and then something Jack had said registered in Eric’s brain. “Stay on the team?”

Jack looked at him. “You didn’t think I was going to watch you skate like that and then not let you on the team, did you?” He said it as if it was a foregone conclusion. 

Shitty nodded. “Half the people on this team barely knew how to skate when they started. I think you’ve got a head start on that one.”

Lardo smirked. “Team gets free admission to the rink. And you know, if I were to know someone at the food stand, say, were I to be the boss of the people at the food stand, theoretically, then a certain member of the team might, say, get free food at the food stand. If he were to find that acceptable.”

Eric looked at her. “I—I can’t accept that. That’s too much.”

Lardo rolled her eyes for about the fifth time. “Jeez. Learn how to accept a favor. Just shut up and say yes.”

“He can’t exactly simultaneously shut up and say yes, Lards,” muttered Shitty.

Lardo punched him.

As the three of them walked Eric to the food stand and bought him a veritable mountain of curly fries, Eric found himself smiling slightly. This—this was everything he needed. This would be a way to catch his breath. It wasn’t perfect, but this, this he could deal with for a while.

As the chatter of Lardo and Shitty (honestly, mostly Shitty) washed over him, Eric ate quietly and caught Jack’s eye. Jack gave him an encouraging nod, and Eric looked down, blushing slightly once again.

After eating a huge lunch of rink food stand fare, the team said their goodbyes. “See you at practice, Bittle,” said Jack, to some appreciative noises from the team.

And as Eric—no, Bitty, he thought to himself, grinning quietly as he curled up on his backpack that night—as Bitty lay in the storeroom that night, he began to feel as if it was possible for things to work out. Maybe the universe had just decided that he needed an out. And he was so, so glad it had come in the form of this dumb hockey team.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want to say that Bitty’s assessment of his options is not necessarily an accurate one. There are lots of resources he could turn to. But for the purposes of his character (and the needs of this plot) he just doesn’t really think like that. He’s a little foolish, and a lot desperate. And lacking the proper support to think everything through clearly :’(
> 
> Next chapter will be a Lardo interlude, probably...
> 
> Also just wanna say again that I know literally nothing about hockey like my entire knowledge of hockey is Check Please and the movie Goon, so, sorry hockey people. (I also know nothing about figure skating, which I’m sure you could figure out from my extremely specific descriptions of the exercises they do)
> 
> I made Bitty a little happier this time! Hope you enjoy.


End file.
